Do not believe, my dearest, when I say
That I no longer love you.
When the tide ebbs do not believe the sea -
It will return anew.
on Alpujara's golden land.
My guitar invites you,
come out my dear!
If only I had known, had realised,
I would not have looked out of the window
as the dashing young man
rode along our street,
When the church-village slumbers
And the last songs are sung,
When the grey mist arising,
Believe me not, dear, when in hours of anguish
I say my love for thee exists no more.
At ebb of tide, think not the sea is faithless;
In hours of ebbing tide, oh trust not to the Sea!
It will come back to shore with redness of the morrow;
Autumn 'tis! Our garden stands
Flowerless and bare,
Dizzy whirling yellow leaves
I bless you, forests, valleys, fields, mountains, waters,
I bless freedom and blue skies.
Burnt out is now my misery--
No more unspeakably torments my heart,